


The Dovahkiin First, and a Diva Second

by FoxArcana



Series: Dragon of the Demonic Realm [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Hololive
Genre: But Sometimes Not Canon Compliant, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Minor Character Death, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Skyrim Main Quest, also what were you thinking akatosh, what is a language barrier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:35:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28281009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxArcana/pseuds/FoxArcana
Summary: Months after leaving her past career behind following a series of incidents, a lone succubus finds herself in an empire dubbed Tamriel due to circumstances unforeseen; more specifically on the border between Skyrim and Cyrodiil.Just hours later, she wakes up bound at the wrists, riding in a prison cart towards a likely death alongside a horse thief and two men affiliated with the "Stormcloak Rebels".Little does Aloe know, the reason she's here is because the local Dragon God of Time had chosen her to be the Last Dragonborn.Follows the Main Quest and features mostly characters from Skyrim, but may include other former talents and questlines in the future... on top of a pinch of crazed humor or two when the pacing allows the story to loosen up a little.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), at least as far as i planned
Series: Dragon of the Demonic Realm [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2071677
Kudos: 10





	The Dovahkiin First, and a Diva Second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mythology speaks of the Last Dragonborn, a warrior who will laugh at the face of danger and rise up to save the world from Alduin, the Nordic God of Destruction.
> 
> That warrior is often depicted as a blond, Nordic man. Who Ralof meets instead on the same day as a certain dragon's return is a girl who doesn't seem to even be from Mundus yet finds herself imprisoned, mistaken for a Stormcloak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Features tweaks that have been made to the lore to ensure consistency involving a certain hero's arrival and the location of Ulfric Stormcloak's capture, along with some dialogue from the Opening Scene Overhaul. Perspective will mostly belong to Aloe following this first chapter in Ralof's head.

* * *

Times haven't been kind in recent history, as far as he was concerned. It all started when he was assigned to protect Ulfric Stormcloak, the Jarl of Windhelm and leader of the rebellion he was a part of. The rightful High King of Skyrim is a role model to him - a true Nord that strives to fight for a stronger Skyrim when the Empire failed them by bowing down to the Thalmor in the tail end of the Great War and allowing those damned high elves to ban the worship of Talos.

Ralof thought Jarl Ulfric to be untouchable after having repeatedly evaded capture in the months following the then-High-King Torygg's death, that is until they and a small number of Ulfric's other bodyguards were ambushed by General Tullius while en route to Darkwater Crossing. He and his fellow rebels had no choice to surrender, Jarl Ulfric was gagged, and they were put on a cart heading towards wherever they were to meet their end.

Two days and one night later was when they reached the border, where a detachment of Stormcloaks had been sent to rescue Ulfric and his men, Ralof included. Somehow, General Tullius and his men had anticipated this ambush and flanked them with another ambush.

And so, Ralof and the other rebels' rescuers ended up becoming their fellow captives. But it would seem that two bystanders would caught in the crossfire.

"Damn you, Stormcloaks..." one of the bystanders growls after what seemed like hours of silence, seated next to him and in front of Jarl Ulfric. "Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell."

By the looks of him, the thief seemed to be a Nord, but his attitude pinned him down for a far cry from Ralof's ideal image of one. The instant the thief was found out, he had tried to make a run for the nearest civilization only to ram into another legionnaire and get detained like the rest of the prisoners here.

Before Ralof can fire back at the thief, the unconscious bystander right in front of him begins to audibly stir and he turns his attention toward her - a foreigner that couldn't be any older than the rest of the prison cart no matter how you sliced it. Ralof wasn't able to determine the foreigner as being one specific race even after getting a long, close look at her.

She had a tail, but wasn't a Khajiit.  
She had horns, but wasn't an Argonian.  
She had pointy ears, but wasn't an Elf, much less a Breton.  
She had a human facial structure, skin tone, and - heck, even as she slowly her eyes and started to come to, he could tell she even had human eyes; but she most certainly didn't seem to be any of the races of Men.

"Hey. Hey you! You're finally awake," the thief called out to the girl as she reached for her head, only to realize her wrists were bound like those of the rest of the prisoners. "Guards sure worked you over."

"I told those Imperial soldiers you weren't with us, but they just knocked you out and grabbed you, like that thief over there," says Ralof to the same prisoner, before turning to aforementioned horse thief.

"As I was about to say, you look like a Nord, but certainly don't have the heart of one." The thief scoffed. "A true Nord would never steal a horse, much less abandon Skyrim in her time of need."

"I wanted no part in this and you know it!" The thief counters, then he turns toward the girl. "In case you still didn't get the memo, you and I shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, _thief,"_ says Ralof.

"Shut up back there!" shouts the Imperial soldier driving the cart.

"Also, what's with this gagged man?" asks the thief concerning Ulfric, disregarding the legionnaire's demand for silence. "He looks a little familiar..."

"Watch your tongue!" Ralof jumps to the Jarl's defense in an instant. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true high king!"

Realization dawns in the thief's eyes. "Ulfric, the Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they've captured you... Oh gods, where are they taking us?"

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits." Ralof looks off toward the path.

"No, this can't be happening. This isn't happening!" the thief begins to panic, but the other prisoner only seems to look around in confusion, as if this was all a dream.

"Hey, what villages are you two from, horse thief and... the other one?" Ralof asks, drawing the attention of the thief and the foreigner.

"Why does it matter?" the thief responds.

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

"...Rorikstead," the thief finally states. "I'm... I'm from Rorikstead."

Ralof nods, and turns to the one with the horns. "...And you?"

"...This isn't a dream, isn't it?" she asks, starting to realize this is real life. "Because I... really should be at the Demonic Realm by now..." Panic begins to set in for her.

Demonic Realm? As in, Oblivion or a plane separate from it? Now that he thinks of it, the foreigner seems innocent enough, but you can never be sure with a youth who dares associate herself with anything resembling the Daedra. Regardless, Ralof shunts his suspicions into the back of his head. It won't matter in the end.

"General Tullis, sir!" an Imperial soldier calls out within the walls of the village gate - the gates the prison carts were just about to enter. "The headsman is waiting!"

"Good; let's get this over with," the very man who led the capture of Ulfric and his men replies just within the gate.

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh," the horse thief pleaded for divine intervention with growing desperation. "Divines, please help me..."

"Look at him..." Ralof looks toward that blasted general, who looks to have gotten himself into a debate with who looks like a high-ranking Thalmor officer. "General Tullius the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves, I bet they had something to do with this."

Grim silence retakes the cart for the remainder of the trip, while Ralof starts to reminisce in the village that will stage the prisoners' impending execution. Helgen, the town from where he was once sweet on a girl back in the day. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in...  
Funny... When Ralof was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make him feel so safe...

It wasn't long before the prison carts reached the execution site, marked by a chopping block right outside a tower and the presence of a man with a decapitation axe and an Imperial captain ordering the prisoners out of the carts.

"Why are we stopping?" the thief from Rorikstead asks stupidly.

"Why do you think?" Ralof turns to the thief again. "End of the line."

Finally, the cart the four were on stops as the one that was in front of them started to unload its own batch of Stormcloak Prisoners. Ralof turned toward the foreigner, who had shriveled up slightly compared to the last time he focused specifically on her. Even with her short skirt and utter lack of sleeves, she looked more dizzy than cold, if anything.

"Let's go." Ralof would rest his hand on her shoulder if his hands were free, despite all of his first impressions of her. "Shouldn't keep the Gods waiting for us."

"No, wait! This girl and I _are not_ rebels!" the thief pleads with the captain in charge of the execution, gesturing toward the foreigner. "You've got to tell them - we're not with the Stormcloaks! This is a mistake!"

"Shut up! Out of the cart, now!" The captain barks.

"Face your death with some courage, thief," Ralof muttered as he and the other three began unloading themselves off the cart, whilst he himself turned his attention toward Hadvar, the soldier standing right beside the captain.

Ralof was none too happy to see that man again, a sentiment shared by the other Nord, judging by the subtle grimace he made upon sighting the kinsman he once called a friend. He could remember the week they separated like it was the previous one. Running off to Windhelm - hoping Hadvar would soon eventually meet him joining the same faction. Yet, that moment never came, and instead came the news that Hadvar had joined the Imperial Legion, relayed to him by his sister Gerdur.

"Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time, and don't even think about running!"

"Empire loves their damn lists..." Ralof growls as he steps out the prison cart last. Standing beside him, the foreigner is a few inches shorter than even a typical wood elf - the top of her head only reached as far as Ralof's chest.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm," Hadvar calls out, quill and list in hand as a number of nameless fellow grunts not far from him call the names of the mentioned Jarl's men. "Guilty of murder and high treason, and sentenced to death."

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric," Ralof comforts his superior as he walked towards his fate.

"Ralof of Riverwood," Hadvar calls next.

"Aye. Proud son of Skyrim, here," Ralof declares in a mocking tone as he starts walking to join Ulfric.

"Stormcloak soldier, sentenced to death," Hadvar mutters, checking off Ulfric's and Ralof's names.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

"No!" the horse thief shouts desperately in response to his name. "For the last time, I'm not a Stormcloak!"

"It says right here you are. Sorry." Hadvar shook his head, his tone low and closer to resigned than regretful.

"No, I'm serious!" With mercy ungranted, Lokir ran for the hills.

"HALT!" barks the captain.

"All I did was steal a horse!" Lokir screams, not slowing down one bit.

"ARCHERS!"

"I'm NOT a rebel! You can't do thi-" Lokir's pleas are cut short by an imperial arrow piercing through his neck, instantly killing him and sending his body onto the ground.

"Anyone else feel like running?!" the captain snarls, turning back towards the prisoners as Hadvar checked Lokir's name off the list, stopping whatever the foreigner had in terms of an escape plan before it could be executed.

Speaking of the foreigner, Hadvar doesn't seem to recognize her. "Wait... You there. Step forward."

Looking at her over his shoulder from where he is, Ralof detects a barely-noticeable quiver in the foreigner's ears, and her tail seemed to dive between her legs before wrapping around one.

"Who are you?" Hadvar asks the foreigner.

"... ...Aloe Mano," the foreigner finally states her name, her voice more hoarse than Ralof expected to be the case. "I really don't belong here..."

"Not many wood elves would choose to come alone to Skyrim..." Hadvar blinks in bewilderment. He shifts between staring at the horned prisoner and at his list, before popping another comment.  
"Fewer still would choose to wear asymmetric goat horns on their head instead of antlers. What incantation gave you those... along with that tail? And that two-tone hair?"  
He shakes his head and turns back toward his nonplussed captain, asking, "Captain, what should we do? She's not on the list."

"Forget the list. She goes to the block," the Captain sneers. Hadvar contemplated something for a second before sighing and responding.

"By your orders, Captain." Hadvar turns to look at Aloe. "I'm sorry," he begins, sounding much more sincere with her than with that petty thief. "We'll make sure your remains will return to Valenwood. Follow the captain, prisoner."

She who calls herself a succubus follows the captain and rejoins Ralof's side with her head hung in resignation, meanwhile as Hadvar moves to the Executioner's own side.

"Ulfric Stormcloak," General Tullius spits out the name of the Nord in question. "Some here in Helgen may call you a 'hero'... but a hero doesn't use a power like The Voice to _murder_ his king and _usurp_ his throne."

Ulfric grunts, the gag muffling whatever insults the True High King had waiting for he who plotted his capture.

"You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to _put you down_ , and _restore the peace_."

And then, right out of the blue, Ralof and everyone else present can't help but hear the roar of something in the distance and turn their gaze skyward.

"What was that?" Hadvar asks.

"It's nothing," Tullius dismisses the sound. "Carry on."

"Yes, General Tullius!" says the captain as her general distanced himself from the rebellion's leader. Whatever that sound was, it definitely wasn't normal.

"Give them their last rites," she commands a Priestess of Arkay to do.

As ordered, the Priestess begins... "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon y-"

 _"For the love of Talos_ , shut up and let's get this over with." ...up until an impatient prisoner affiliated with the Stormcloaks interrupts her and walks toward the block before his name had been called.

"As you wish," the priestess mutters, before walking off.

"Come on! I haven't got all morning," the prisoner continues, displaying not even a single ounce of fear even as the Imperial Captain pushed him down onto the chopping block and the executioner raised his axe.

"My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?"

...CHOP! Ralof winced at the sickening sound. The male prisoner's head was severed clean from the rest of his body, his blood staining the executioner's axe and the ankles of everyone nearby.

"YOU IMPERIAL _BASTARDS!"_ A female Nord prisoner cried out.

"Justice!" a male resident of Helgen shouted.

"Death to the Stormcloaks!" a female resident yelled.

"As fearless in death as he was in life." Ralof sighs, hoping that line didn't come out with even the slightest bit of fear as his nerves get pushed closer to their limits. But he couldn't shake the unusual suspicion that "Aloe" foreigner who was brought here with him is in for a long day.

_To Be Continued..._

* * *


End file.
